Unknownfate
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Chapter 106
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 15:43:12 +0000 UTCMordred once called me a paper king.
She said it with a grin, of course—mischievous, proud, mocking. Tossed the words over her shoulder like it was some grand joke.
I had smiled at the time, too. But now, with the sun low in the sky and a stack of unsigned decrees taller than a longsword, I found myself wondering if she’d been more right than she realized.
No battles. No blades. No galloping steeds or clashing armies. Just parchment, ink, and the endless ache of governance.
I reached for the next scroll, half-dreading what it might hold. Trade route amendments? Another budgetary plea from the eastern grain commission? Or worse—another internal report from Agravain detailing things I’d rather not think about before dinner?
The ink was beginning to smudge where my fingers pressed too hard. I set the pen down and leaned back, letting my gaze wander toward the stained glass windows at the waning sun outside.
Part of me slightly regretted reclaiming Albion and crowning myself its king. Part of me wished for adventure, or for rest. The archer part wished for the beach, the ruler for the casino. The rider for a burger.
Yet, all I had were ever-growing piles of work.
However, as king, it was my duty to work for my kingdom. Its problems were mine to solve, and its frustrations were mine to deal with.
A growing frustration was the rising price of coal; already, they had reached three times the market rate when I first arrived in this new world. And that was despite me reopening the mines.
We had started the arc reactor construction. Stark’s designs were unlike anything the world had seen—clean, efficient, endlessly powerful. But what use is a divine gift when your best minds cannot understand how to make it breathe?
We could build the structure, install the magnetic coils, shape the shell to Stark’s vision… but the heart of it—the element that gave it life—remained beyond us. My court scientists had finally admitted defeat just days ago, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.
I had hoped the numbers would overcome genius. That where one man worked alone, hundreds might succeed by sheer volume. But no. All they’d built was a throne of failure—and left me to sit in it.
I had been so confidant when Stark warned me, yet, it was I who was proved the fool.
And it wasn’t just my own people who sabotaged my dreams. My enemies, too, had chosen their own methods of adding to my workload.
Terror struck in the city of York last month. A theater fire started by a man who bled green mist from his eyes. Three civilians dead, dozens injured. Another incident followed in Dover—this one an explosion at a cathedral, carried out by a pair of brothers whose limbs warped and reshaped mid-combat like cursed clay.
They had all paid for their crimes with their lives, my enforcement knights showing no mercy to them.
Yet, the deed was done, people had witnessed magic, not just from the arena’s ground, but upon themselves, and their lives, and that caused fear.
My people already had many doubts about their new lives under my reign, it would take time to get used to it. So far, they could only compare it with their old lives, with the outside world in the current time.
It wasn’t yet easy to see what they had grained in return for what they had lost. I knew well enough that the international media spent a lot of time talking about the loss of rights, about the number of executed for crimes in my land.
And yes, I did end many lives, I sent many to prison, it might be cruel, but it was my duty. I had to ensure that peace could be found, so yes, I was merciless to those I could not extend it to. Those who would not obey.
It would take time before they saw the good of those actions, before they realized how great a home without crime really is.
However, no matter what I did to give them that dream, it would only ever remain a dream if people continued to attack my domain. And that was what was happening, those people, they attacked me.
And I knew why, because they had screamed and cursed at Morgana as they died, clearly blaming her for their deaths. I knew not how she had achieved it, but she was behind it, that there was no doubt about.
As for why she did it, that was easy to guess.
She was testing me.
Not directly, no—she wouldn't dare walk through the gates of Camelot herself. Not yet. Not when she remembered the last time she stood before me.
But she was watching. Measuring. Sending pawns forward to gauge my response.
How fast could my knights mobilize? How effective were our magical wards? How fearful was the common man, when faced with a twisted thing that bled arcane corruption? These were the questions she wanted answered. And in her own twisted way, she was learning them. One body at a time.
It wasn’t an army. Not yet. But it was a campaign. Of whispers. Of chaos. Of slow-burning terror meant to rot faith from the inside out. And it was working.
Honestly, I wished I had the magical ability to properly deal with her. I was strong, my mana vast as an ocean. Yet, I wasn’t very skilled in the arcane arts. I could power through that on a normal day, using divine power.
But it wasn’t enough to deal with her trickery, I had not learned much for my time under Merlin; he was a kingmaker, not a great teacher. And sadly, I wasn’t the caster from the sixth lostbelt.
So I didn’t even have a caster origin to fall back on.
And the magic users recruited so far… were not nearly powerful or skilled enough to help.
Not against her.
I would need more than raw strength or flashy spells. I would need understanding. Technique. Patience. A level of magical fluency I didn’t yet possess, in person or in realm.
Morgana was, after all, one of the most powerful magic users of all time, at least on Earth. So few could match her. And none of those were willing to serve me.
I could attempt to recruit someone talented and train them, but I was hardly the best teacher, nor did I have the time for it.
So the Ancient One got to keep Strange.
I put the thought behind me and reached for another report. This one, unfortunately, had Agravain’s seal.
I broke the wax and scanned the contents, already knowing it would sour my mood.
Another foreign spy caught. This one in Gloucester, posing as a trade liaison from a Central European transport firm. This made the twelfth confirmed spy this month. Or at least, the twelfth we caught.
I sighed and placed the scroll aside.
I couldn’t blame them for wanting to know about my realm, and I didn’t. If they came as tourists, they were welcomed. And there were many of those, countless. Hell, I even allowed Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff herself, to run around inside my capital.
Yet some people, some organizations, some governments, and some nations wanted more. They wanted secrets or to do more than just learn; they wanted to act, to sabotage, to build resistance to my rule.
Whatever they sought, it went beyond what I allowed. And so I acted without mercy, yet clearly more kept coming, certain that I killed them before I had something to hide, and that they got too close.
They were wrong.
While I had many things to hide, those things weren’t something they could find; my secrets were in my head only. My treasures stored in my divine soul. They couldn’t steal anything like that from me.
But they were unwilling to believe this truth, they didn’t want the truth, they wanted control, and they couldn’t control me. Couldn’t control Albion’s fate.
I sighed. “So much work.” I whispered as I moved on to the next document, the next scroll, the next issue, and the next report.
My work seemed endless, and I couldn’t help but miss Mordred.
Her noise. Her fire. Her chaos. No doubt she would try her best to distract me, she would slow my work down with her antics, but she would entertain me, bring a bit of joy to the endless work.
“Maybe it’s time to call her back again…” I whispered as I reached to pick up a new scroll.
Only, I didn’t.
Because at that exact moment, a ripple passed through me.
My hand jerked reflexively, elbow catching a stack of scrolls.
Parchment scattered across the floor like fallen leaves.
I stared down at the mess, then exhaled slowly through my nose.
“…Wonderful.”
I rose from my seat, brushing off my gloves and glancing toward the door. The magic woven through the walls of Camelot whispered truth into my ears, and the names that reached me were not ones I expected.
I frowned. “Guests. Very unusual guests.”
Unusual enough, it seemed, to make even a king drop her paperwork.
-----
The train had been surprisingly pleasant. A perfect way of getting to Camelot, or rather, to what was called the ‘outskirts’, the area just outside of Camelot, where a small town had been built over the last few months, all to cater to the needs of the countless tourists coming to the city.
Sprite pressed her nose to the window as the rolling hills of Albion gave way to the ivory shimmer of Camelot. It didn’t look real—not in the way she remembered castles from back then.
“Wow,” She said, lips curling into a smirk. “It’s way better in real life than on TV, I can’t believe this was built in one night.”
Sersi sat across from her, legs crossed at the ankle, a sleek coat folded neatly in her lap. Her gaze was more measured. “Indeed, even I can’t figure out how he did that.” And she really couldn’t figure out how.
She had known Arthur, and yeah, he wasn’t bad with a sword, but building this? Even she couldn’t build a city, much less one like this.
When the train reached the station, Sprite quickly jumped off, eager to head inside and explore.
Yet, she couldn’t help but paused on the platform, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. The ‘outskirts’ were bustling with energy—merchants shouting in a mix of regional accents, tour guides dressed in pseudo-medieval garb, locals offering handmade charms, and camera flashes from curious tourists everywhere.
“God,” Sprite muttered, “this is like Disneyland if someone handed it a sword and gave it a sense of dignity.”
Sersi stepped down after her, more graceful in her movement, her presence drawing a few eyes. She smiled politely and kept walking, coat tucked neatly under one arm. “People sure are quick to adapt. Just a few months ago, this was a grass-covered hill, and look at it now.”
They passed beneath a carved wooden arch that marked the transition between the train station and the wide cobbled path that led up the hill. Signs lined the road: Pilgrims and Tourists Welcome, Authentic Tours Daily, and Respect the law—the last one in five languages.
The road was lined with small shops and inns, most with thatched roofs or sturdy stone façades. Everything looked new, built with care but designed to feel ancient. It worked better than it had any right to.
Sprite bought a candied apple from a vendor who tried to upsell her a “Blessing of Gareth” pin. Which she did end up buying, mostly because she was very curious about the female knight.
She had met Gareth, and the one from her past was very much a male, even if the one seen on television was indeed a cute girl, it was curious, and just one of the many questions that brought them there.
As they finally reached the great white walls, the stalls disappeared, and all that remained was the breathtaking sight of the city of dreams and legends.
The towering gates were wide open, and people streamed in and out without pause, knights stood armed at the sides of the entrance, silent like statues. With families stopping to shamelessly take pictures standing next to them.
Sprite took a deep breath, her eyes flicking from the guards to the towering spires visible past the gate. The scent of flowers, iron, and something faintly familiar hung in the air. “I think I get it now,” she murmured. “Why people come here.”
“Sersi tried to overlap this sight with the one of her memories, but it was impossible, this city was nothing like the Camelot of years past, it was far, far better than what had been around back then.
Which raised the question, what was this place, and what was going on.
(end of chapter)
And here we are, at the end of what I have prepared, from no one, my chapters will be hot off the press.
And a new chapter begins,
I will be dealing with the Eternals a bit, as well as quickly moving into what is known as Fury’s long week.
While Iron Man 2 is of little importance, and the recovery of Steve Rogers isn’t a bit deal either.
The same can’t be said for Thor; got big plans there. So while this chapter was just dealing with setting up some stuff, the next few should hopefully have some more action.
